


When it Rains it Pours

by girlpornparadise



Category: There is a New World Somewhere
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Motel room, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpornparadise/pseuds/girlpornparadise
Summary: You're in a bad way when a kind and handsome stranger walks into your life.
Relationships: Esteban x Reader, Esteban/Reader
Kudos: 4





	When it Rains it Pours

You walk into the diner and as the doors close behind you, the sound of rain is muffled. You sidle up to the counter and rest your bag on the empty stool to your right. Water squeezes out of it like a sponge and begins to drip off the stool. You'd feel guilty about the mess if you yourself weren't exhausted and soaked through too.

The older waitress walks over and though unimpressed with the mess you've made, looks at you with a glimmer of pity. 

"What can I get ya?"

"Coffee, black."

You feel a slight rumble in your stomach, but you don't have the cash to do anything about it at the moment. This wasn't planned, you'd had to leave in a hurry. The coffee would have to do, and it would hopefully take the edge off the chill your soaked frame was feeling.

The kind stranger had let you off a half mile back at the fork, and you were forced to walk the remaining distance to the brightly lit diner. Though grateful for the ride, you cursed the unexpected downpour that caught you a few minutes after leaving the car.

You look up to your left and one stool over sits a man with dark hair and tanned skin. His features are strong and highlighted by his slightly greying facial hair. He sits with his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. They look warm. 

He looks over at you and sees your dripping hair and your grey t-shirt clinging to your shoulders like a wrinkly second skin. You cock a half hearted smile at him and start to look down when you shiver involuntarily. 

"Are you OK?" He asks. His expression is one of concern.

"I'm, I'm fine." You stumble, clearly lying. 

He stands up and unties the flannel shirt wrapped around his waist. "Here." He offers you the shirt. "You should put on something dry." 

You hesitate, but accept his offer and give him a small smile. "Thank you."

Gripping the shirt, you grab your waterlogged possessions and make your way to the washroom. You strip off your t-shirt and replace it with the red flannel, carefully buttoning it up to the top. It hangs down just to the ripped hem of your jean shorts that you try unsuccessfully to dry under the hand dryer. 

When you return to your seat the coffee is waiting with the surprising addition of a slice of warm apple pie. 

You open your mouth to comment on the mistake but the man whose shirt you were now wearing cuts you off.

"You look like you're having a bit of a day and I thought you could use something sweet."

You go to protest that he's already been too generous, but he nods towards the plate "Go on."

Another kind stranger.

You smile another thank you and wrap your hands around the coffee. As you take a sip, it warms its way down your throat and through your body. You start to feel like yourself again and begin to relax.

"Esteban" he introduces himself. You follow suit.

You can tell he has several questions, and who wouldn't want to know about a woman who looks like a beached mermaid that had found her way to a diner on the outskirts, but he's clearly been around and knows better than to pry. 

So he keeps the conversation light and casual, choosing to talk mostly about himself. Not in the selfish way men feel entitled to, but in a way to gain your trust and put you at ease.

As he speaks you can't help but take in more of him. His eyes are dark brown and framed by long lashes, and when he smiles, his face softens, made younger by the dimples that play at the corners of his mouth. His voice is softer than you'd expect from someone who looked so serious when you had entered the diner. Although his hair is a bit messy, it's in that carefree way that takes more effort than it looks. It had the same deliberate casualness as the slightly too tight t-shirt that accentuates his arms. His appearance is something he obviously takes pride in. Despite sucking back the same mediocre diner coffee that you are, he's clearly careful with what he puts in his body to maintain such a sculpted, muscular frame.

Soon you've forgotten about the day's journey and you're laughing and encouraging his stories. The coffee disappears, then another cup. The pie slowly disappears as well though you find him so engaging that you keep forgetting it's there.

A couple of hours roll by and the conversation naturally peters out.

"Where are you headed?" He asks, with what seems to be genuine worry.

"I'm not really sure." You admit hesitantly.

You look down and realize you're still wearing his shirt. He notices you do it and can tell you're thinking about returning it. He shakes his head slightly to let you know he has no expectations of its return.

"I know a place." He says. "Let's get you somewhere dry."

He pays for his coffee as well as yours and the pie despite your gentle protest. He's already been too kind.

You follow him to his car and he opens the passenger side door for you. It's still raining, but it's much lighter now. You close the door as he rounds to his side. The faint aroma of stale cigarettes lingers, and it triggers a warm memory you can't quite place.

You drive in silence, not sure how to break it or if you even should. It's peaceful in the rain and you gaze out the window at the passing lights.

The drive is short and you pull into a nondescript motel parking lot. He parks and you both get out of the car. 

Fearing yourself to be presumptuous, you prepare to fumble with the words to express that you can't afford a room. He looks directly into your eyes and allays your fears with one simple word. 

"Come."

It wasn't a command, but you obey all the same.

His hand slips the key in the lock and he motions for you to enter as he opens the door. The place is a little worn, but clean. A few of his possessions are scattered throughout the room, but he clearly hasn't been there long. He strikes you as the type who isn't anywhere for very long.

He ditches his wallet and keys and flops down on the bed. You shiver slightly, still damp and make your way to the bathroom, clutching your bag.

You carefully remove the red flannel shirt and hang it on the back of the door. You feel a sense of relief and calm as you strip off your damp bra, jean shorts, and panties. You turn the knobs above the tub and shiver slightly as you wait for the water to warm. As you step into the shower and the heat hits you, you feel human again.

As much as you relish the comfort of the shower, you remember that you are a guest and cut it short. You towel off and carefully button the flannel shirt back up, missing the top button. You rummage through your bag, but everything is soaked through. You find the driest panties you can and slip them on. After running a comb through your hair and a quick check in the mirror, you pad barefoot back into the small room.

He's splayed comfortably across the bed, flicking at his phone and sipping a beer. Something cheap and local presumably. As you enter, his eyes rake across your body. He catches himself, and tries to act the gentleman by offering you a beer instead. 

You accept it as you sit down on the bed next to him, and you tuck your legs under you. You take a sip of the bland lager and sigh a little. He puts down his phone and softly studies you as you shift to get comfortable. 

You smile warmly with gratitude, and he smiles back. There are those dimples again. 

A few moments pass in silence and he offers to turn on the TV. He changes channels aimlessly and you both stare ahead and drink. Eventually, his breath lets out a light chuckle at something he's seen and you glance over at him. 

"How are you feeling?" He asks half politely, half curious. 

"Much better thanks."

The thought to ask you about yourself again crosses his mind, but he decides that he shouldn't break the look of contentment on your face. Your smile has softened, and it has softened something inside of him. He turns away when he notices he's been staring a fraction of a second too long at your lips. He leans over to grab another beer.

His shifting weight on the bed disturbs your balance and you get up and wander to the window. The rain is lighter now, but still persistent and you trace a drop with your finger as it glides downwards.

"Not comfortable?" He asks as he takes in your silhouette against the window.

"Mostly comfortable." You say as a thought crosses your mind, your slight buzz making you feel bolder.

His eyebrow arches slightly at the unexpected reply. 

"But your shirt is kind of scratchy. It's slightly chaffing my nipples." You whisper coyly.

His eyes follow the words to your chest and he moistens his lips subconsciously.

You undo 2 more top buttons and shrug the flannel off your shoulders so that the shirt is hanging on your bent elbows, just grazing your back. You glance down at your now exposed breasts and back into his hungry eyes.

"Maybe you should kiss them better."

He puts down his drink, raises himself off the bed and crosses the small room in one swift motion. His hand is on the small of your back and the other one squeezes your breast gently. A gasp escapes your mouth. 

His eyes dart slightly as he looks into yours, seeking permission. Your pleading gaze matches your trembling lips and they're soon stilled by his wanting mouth. His tongue seeks yours and your arms go limp. As they do, the shirt falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. Your hands seek the back of his head, and you weave your fingers into his dark hair, pulling him closer, deepening his kiss.

His thumb ghosts over your nipple and a shudder courses through you. You grab at him, desperate for more, but he breaks your kiss and starts trailing his mouth, nipping and kissing down your jaw, your neck, your chest. His lips find your nipple and he sucks lightly. Your knees go weak and he presses his hand into your back more firmly to support your weight. A cry breaks from your throat and you can feel a hum in his chest and he savours your reaction.

He presses harder against your back and your hips thrust forward to meet his. You can feel his jeans against your thighs and his erection straining against the denim. You reach down to stroke against his girth and as you palm at the mound he lets out a low rumble. 

You press harder and his mouth finds yours again, trying to consume you. He glides his free hand up your inner thigh and his 2 fingers find your panties, damp now not only from the downpour but from the slick desire pooling between your legs. He hums his approval into your mouth and proceeds to rub your clit through the wet fabric. You arch and gasp at his touch, but he holds you firmly to him and continues to passionately kiss your mouth. 

The circles of his fingers are agonizingly slow until he slips them past the damp cotton and directly touches your skin. You tremble, but he has you and he delights in your loss of control. His hand slowly glides back and he parts your lips to press his fingers inside of you and you moan at the strong warmth of his hand. His palm still grazes your clit as his fingers move to beckon an orgasm from within. 

As you think you are on the verge of collapse, he guides you to the bed and lays you down firmly, but not forcefully. His hands are everywhere and you throw your arms back over your head as you arch back into the mattress. A strangled moan breaks from you and suddenly his hands are gone. 

He's standing at the end of the bed and you watch hungrily as he removes his t-shirt. Your eyes take in what your hands already know of his broad chest and strong arms. His belt hits the floor and shortly after you hear his jeans and boxers join it. Your mouth is agape, and you salivate imagining the taste of his thick hard cock that you now can't tear your eyes away from. 

You remove your panties and your knees fall wide, enticing and inviting him to take all of you.

His skillful hands part your legs further so that he can crawl between them. You feel his thick length graze your thigh as he positions himself above you. You take in his strong features accentuated by the dim light and see the lust flickering in his eyes, matching your own. 

His lips. Again his soft lips on yours insistent and needing. His tongue, exploring your mouth, trying to lap up all of your desire. His hands, strong and determined, kneading your soft flesh, searching for every nerve from which he can strum a moan or a gasp. 

He stops and raises his head above yours, looking down into your eyes as his hand cups your jaw. He repositions his hips and you feel his cock brush against your clit and as he shifts, he slides easily between your wet folds. He pulls back and slowly thrusts forward, entering your core. Your head tries to buck back, but he holds your jaw firmly so that he can see your reaction to him parting you open. Your eyes roll back slightly as you let out a short high pitched cry and the corners of his mouth curl with satisfaction. 

His hips buck and you spread your legs wider to take all of him in. You grip his sides with your knees as you try to hold his body closer to yours. You squeeze him with your legs to feel the mass of him around you, his weight on top of you.

You hear his heavy breathing becoming more ragged as your moans gain confidence. He uses his hold of your head to plant kisses on your cheeks and neck and jaw and with each one you gasp and cry out. 

He's thrusting faster now and you are lost in the rhythm. You grasp at his back and feel the undulating muscles offer their firm resistance, which just makes you grip harder. His breathing stutters as you squeeze and he lets out a short rumbling grunt that you feel shake through his body.

You feel your skin begin to flush and your toes curl as you tense and relax to his ebb and flow. Your walls squeeze tight and he scrunches his eyes closed at the divine pressure. Your body is pulling him into you, desperate to feel him deep inside your core. The pace quickens and you feel the electric jolt of your orgasm spread from your center. As you shake, you cry out and he watches intently at the pleasure he has given you, preparing for his own.

He buries his face in your neck and lets loose a muffled cry as he spills himself into you. Your legs are still twitching from the orgasm that wracked through you and you feel weak but elated as he collapses onto your body. 

You try to catch your breath as he slides out of you and you feel him spill from between your legs. He rolls over and the bed groans as the weight of his strong solid mass lays down next to you. You beam at him, exhausted and satisfied, and he feels the same. He leans forward to kiss your forehead, and when he pulls back, his posture is inviting and you lay your head against his chest. Your breathing slows and you drift off in the safety of his protective embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, and I picked the most obscure Maurice Compte movie I could apparently. Did anyone else even watch this movie? Nope. Didn't think so. Guess I'm talking to myself.


End file.
